


drawn by necessity

by PitViperOfDoom



Series: assistant archivist au [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Also The Hunt Is There, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, First Kiss, Jon Gives Gerard Three Consecutive Heart Attacks, Jon Has No Sense Of Self Preservation, Jon Works For Gertrude, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: A simple errand for Gertrude gets complicated.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims
Series: assistant archivist au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774198
Comments: 38
Kudos: 822





	drawn by necessity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my [previous story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960249) about Jon and Gerard. Technically you don't have to read it before reading this one, but it does give context for how and why they ended up working together.
> 
> Enjoy!

As close as they were, squashed together in the narrow space between unfinished walls and steel beams, Jon could barely hear Gerry breathe. His own gasps for breath sounded impossibly loud in comparison, even with Gerry’s hand clamped over his mouth to muffle them. One finger was close enough to his throat that Gerry could probably feel Jon's racing pulse, just as Jon could feel his friend’s heartbeat against his back.

Nearby came the sound of light, running footsteps, pausing just long enough for Jon to hear quiet snuffling. And then they were off again, fading into the distance.

A full minute passed in tense silence before Gerry finally released him. First his hand left Jon’s mouth, then his arm loosened around his shoulders, and Jon sagged against him for a moment, not quite trusting his legs.

“Is it… are they gone?” he asked, not daring to speak above a whisper.

“For now,” Gerry replied, with a certainty that Jon envied. A light push from behind sent him out of their cramped hiding place, into the more dubious cover of a building still under construction. Gerry followed him out, absurdly silent given his choice in footwear. He was scratching at his neck, just around the edge of the eye tattooed over his throat.

Jon wasn’t sure if the tattoos had anything to do with Gerry’s strange ability to just _know_ things. Obviously he’d asked, more than once, and Gerry found new and creative ways to deflect Jon’s questions every day. There was no denying that the ability existed, and if Gerry was making any effort to hide it then it wasn’t working. Jon had already noticed his particular knack for finding his way past locked doors, either by divining codes and combinations or by ferreting out a nearby unlocked window. Even sharper was his perception of the Powers. Jon could work out what fear they were dealing with from context clues, but Gerry just seemed to _know_.

For example, given the light footsteps, the sniffing, the prickle up his neck from sharp eyes and sharper teeth, and the heart-powering terror of being chased on foot, Jon could safely conclude that their pursuer served the Hunt. Gerry, on the other hand, had taken one look at the woman prowling the construction site, grabbed Jon by the wrist, and said, “That’s a Hunter, and we need to leave.”

And now he was taking point, peering out the door to check that the way was clear. “Come on. It’s time we weren’t here.”

“Wait—are you sure?” Jon stayed as close as he dared—too close and he risked one of them tripping. “We’ve hardly learned anything.”

“Beg to differ.” Gerry pulled a face as he led the way back outside. There wasn’t a lot of visibility; the half-finished buildings around them were just solid enough to block the view of the rest of the construction site. “We’ve learned everything we need to know.”

“But—but the _Circus_.” For God’s sake, that was why they were here. This place was going to be a hospital eventually, but in years past it had been open fields. And while there were no official records of circus performances on this spot, there were plenty of rumors, and more than a few anonymous accounts online. Given that and the more recent reports of missing construction workers and mysterious injuries—enough to put a halt on construction for weeks—Gertrude had seen fit to send them for a bit of reconnaissance. “We haven’t found anything—we can’t just go back empty-handed.”

“Oh yes we can,” Gerry said lightly, reaching back to tug Jon along. “We’ve even found the reason for all those disappearing builders. A Hunter set up shop, simple as that. If the Circus was ever here, it’s gone now.”

“But there could still be evidence left behind,” Jon hissed. “Gertrude sent us to have a look, and we’ve been too busy running—”

“Yeah, well, pretty sure we’re no use to her dead yet,” Gerry snapped. “You want to look for clues for her, be my guest. But I haven’t made it this far to get my throat ripped out for a Scooby Snack.”

He said that, but his firm grip kept Jon from running off even if he wanted to. Jon pursed his lips and didn’t call him on it.

“Face it, there’s nothing to find,” Gerry went on. “Best thing to do now is get out in one piece, tell her what we did find. If she wants to gripe about us not finding more, then at least we can listen with our guts intact.”

Jon ground his teeth but followed. What Gerry said before made sense; with a follower of the Hunt prowling the area, any hold the Stranger had on it was probably gone. He still didn’t like the idea of returning empty-handed, and he liked the thought of disappointing Gertrude even less, but…

Well. It was like Gerry said. He was no use to her dead.

“Right,” he said out loud, unconsciously picking up his pace. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Gerry scoffed quietly. “We’re being hunted and all I said was ‘hey that’s someone who thrives on chasing things and killing them, let’s avoid her.’ It’s really not that big a leap.”

Jon bit back a retort, because squabbling wasn’t conducive to escaping the construction site without attracting the Hunter’s attention. “Do you know how many there are?” he asked instead.

“Just the one.” Gerry’s voice was firm and steady. He wasn’t making a guess, not even an educated one; this was something he _knew_. “She’ll try to separate us. Stay close, and don’t panic.”

He was laconic, focused, and to the point, which probably meant they really were in serious trouble. Jon shifted his pace again to stay close as Gerry led him along, hiding behind parked equipment and skirting the odd pit. As he did so, the fear rising within him settled. He had barely noticed it beforehand, too focused on more important things like Gertrude’s instructions from before and Gerry’s firm grasp on his wrist right now.

Jon did not consider himself a brave man. He had always drawn bravery from others: Georgie, dragging him out of his comfort zone like a cheerful tour guide; Gertrude, putting names to his darkest fears and giving him a way to fight back for once; Gerry, leading him into danger by the hand, and then leading him out again.

It wasn’t even borrowed bravery, really. Jon was just good at following directions.

They were passing from the cover of one structure to another when Jon felt the prickle up his neck again. By the tightening of Gerry’s grip, he wasn’t the only one.

“Should we run?” he asked under his breath.

“ _No._ ” The pressure on his hand was verging on painful, but Gerry’s voice remained steady. “Running’s what she wants. Keep moving, but don’t flee. Don’t make her chase us.”

It occurred to Jon, far from the first time, that he was very lucky to have met Gerry when he did. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to survive these things on his own, the thought of facing them on his own at all—creeping through this maze of concrete and steel beams, with a predator tracking his every move, _alone_ —

Jon stumbled a bit, forcing a deep, shaky breath into his lungs. He couldn’t think that way. If he let himself go there, then his fear would spin out of control and he’d feed the thing driving the woman to stalk them. Stupid to let that happen over a what-if.

They were coming up on the edge of the construction site, but that didn’t mean they were safe. The crews had dug deep to lay foundations and build a basement level or two, and leaving the site meant climbing out, either taking the roads carved out for construction vehicles or scaling the dirt walls as a shortcut. Jon scanned their surroundings frantically, heart sinking when he saw how far the nearest road was, and how little cover it had. He could feel the Hunter’s gaze like a knife at his throat, different from the oppressive weight in the Archives but no less chilling.

“How the hell are we supposed to escape without running?”

“By not going this way,” Gerry said tersely. He stepped back and herded Jon toward cover again, this time the bones of a hospital annex. Jon hurried back to the shelter of walls and beams, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the shadows. “C’mon, through here. Go ‘round the corner—oh, _fuck!_ ”

Jon was aware of two things, in such quick succession that he wasn’t sure which happened first. His foot snagged on something, a cord or wire that he hadn’t noticed in the gloom—Gerry cannoned into him from behind, knocking him flat on the ground.

A split second later, a deafening blast set his ears ringing. Splinters of wood or concrete struck his face and arms, and for a terrifying moment, Gerry’s weight slumped over him. He had just enough time to fear the worst before Gerry was scrambling off of him, pulling him to his feet and away from the wire.

“Up, up—” Gerry hissed. “Spring gun. She set traps. Go, and this time watch where you step.”

Jon bit back a useless apology and did as he asked. They were hurrying now, almost running, but still keeping to what little cover they could find. In the quiet, Jon could hear it: loping footsteps, heavy breathing, snuffling from the shadows.

Realizations ran through his mind, worrying at his fear like teeth. _The Hunter knows this place like the back of her hand. She knows a_ _ll the_ _places_ _where_ _she could ambush us and finish this. She’s not. She’s playing. This is fun. She’s hunting us for fun._

They left the annex and stepped back out into the sun, and Gerry dragged him into a detour that turned into a winding path through the main structure, ducking and hiding until they could shake their pursuer even for a moment. This time, Jon kept an eye out for tripwires.

They made their way back across the site, close enough to the edge to watch for a way out: a path, a ladder, a scaffold, even a spot where the dirt was uneven enough to climb. The only footsteps Jon heard were their own, and the feeling of the Hunter’s needle-sharp gaze had left. She wasn’t chasing them anymore; she was seeking. They might have time to escape before she found them again.

Of course it was that moment, right when he let the hope leak through, that it all went wrong.

_Snap._

The noise that Gerry made was not one of pain, though it was trying very hard to be. It was soft, muffled and bitten off before it had fully left his throat. Gerry let go of Jon’s arm and _dropped_.

Jon lunged back to catch him, but Gerry was already on the ground, hands scraped and bloody from falling. His face was gray beneath the hair spilling over his forehead, and the trickle of blood from his bitten lip. Jon struggled to lift him up by his shoulders to keep him from lying flat in the dirt, and for a moment Gerry could only wheeze in agony and grip Jon’s arms hard enough to bruise.

Jon barely felt it. His eyes were glued to Gerry’s left foot, where a wicked-looking steel trap had snapped shut over his ankle. “ _Shit._ ”

Gerry kicked out with his trapped leg, gagging with pain when the trap’s chain went taut. His foot was caught fast between the steel jaws, and the trap was fixed in place by the chain and a metal spike driven into a concrete support.

“Here, let me just—” Jon reached for the steel jaws, ready to pry them apart, but Gerry dug his fingers into his arms and held him back.

“Jon,” he gritted out. “Jon I don’t think I can walk on this.”

“Then you can lean on me, now _let go_ —”

“Jon.” Something in Gerry’s tone forced Jon to look at him. There were tears in Gerry’s eyes, probably just a pain reflex given how steady his voice was. “Remember what I said about sticking together? Forget that.”

His heart went to his throat. “Gerry, no.”

“I’ll figure this out,” Gerry told him. “Even if you can get me out of this, I’ll only slow you down. You know that.”

“I am _not leaving you,_ ” Jon hissed.

“Sure you are,” Gerry said calmly. “Get out, grab Gertrude, and then come back for me. Worked with Mum, didn’t it? And she was worse than any old Hunter.”

“She didn’t want you dead!” Jon argued, struggling against his grip. “Gerry, god damn it, just let me—”

Gerry’s hand went to Jon’s mouth again, and even through his own furious silence, Jon could hear the scrape of distant footsteps. His eyes stung and watered from the force of the glare he leveled at Gerry. Gerry, the bastard, simply smiled fixedly at him and pushed him away.

Jon wasn’t brave. He never was, when he was only following directions. But now he was being directed toward cowardice, and for the first time, he didn't want to give in. He didn’t want to run. He didn’t want to leave Gerry behind. He didn’t want to go running to Gertrude for help again, because this time—

This time, if he led her back, he’d be _lucky_ if they found a corpse.

“Just _run,_ ” Gerry whispered, as the Hunter’s footsteps came nearer. “She’ll rip you apart and you know it.”

“But—”

“ _Please_ ,” Gerry gritted out. “Just go. I’ll be fine.”

He wouldn’t be. Jon may not have whatever power of knowledge Gerry did, but he knew that much. If he ran and saved himself now, then this would be the last time he ever saw Gerry alive. And if he didn’t…

It wasn’t a brave thing at all. He had a choice between something he could bear and something he couldn’t. He chose the former.

Gerry must have seen something on his face, or maybe just _known_. “Jon. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

There was a fist-sized chunk of concrete on the ground. Jon stooped to pick it up and heft it in one hand. Light enough to throw, heavy enough to do what he needed.

“When it’s clear, open the trap and get away,” Jon said, his voice far calmer than he felt. “Or you can stay hidden, and wait for me to come back for you.”

“ _Jon,_ ” Gerry hissed, pale with pain and fury.

“Don’t make a sound,” Jon told him. “I’ll come back. Or… or I’ll try.” He turned in the direction of the footsteps, of the sniffing, and started walking. Behind him, the chain on the trap rattled.

“Jon, what the _hell_ are you doing?”

Swallowing his fear, Jon answered, “Running."

He stopped when he was out from under the half-built structure and the gray sunlight shone down on him. An abandoned pickup lay parked nearby, and—that was good enough. The chunk of concrete sailed into the nearest window, and the crack of breaking glass rang out as clear as a gunshot.

The moment he felt the Hunter's eyes on him, Jon turned and ran.

He knew when he was being chased, not because of any connection to the Eye, but because the Hunt wanted him to know. He could feel it in the pulse pounding in his veins, in the ringing of his ears, in the scrape of his clenched teeth. The woman had seen him run and was giving chase. He was her prey. In that moment, her only purpose was to catch him and kill him. Even if he couldn’t see her over his shoulder or hear her panting at his heels, he could feel her eyes fixed on him, razor-sharp and eager.

He still ducked for cover and wove through standing beams and half-built walls, enough to slow her but not enough to lose her completely. If he lost her then she’d find her way back to Gerry.

Sometimes she tricked him; sometimes he turned a corner to find her waiting with bared teeth and bloodshot eyes, forcing him to change direction. Sometimes he gained enough ground to pause for breath, but never for long.

She cornered him once, herding him into a dead end between two sheer walls with a high chain link fence at the end. Jon had never climbed a fence that high before. But if he didn’t climb it, then he would die, and so he threw himself on it and clawed his way upward. A hand closed on his ankle, impossibly hard and strong, and he kicked out blindly until he felt his heel catch. The hand let go, and Jon reached the top with sore, scraped hands. When a jagged bit of wire ripped through both his trouser leg and the knee underneath it, he felt almost nothing through the adrenaline singing in his veins.

Behind him, the Hunter caught the scent of blood and screamed with wild joy.

The second time she nearly caught him, the scaffolding saved him. Her hand grazed his shoulder, more like claws than fingertips, before he scrambled up the ladder rungs and made it to the upper floor.

It creaked ominously beneath his feet but did not give way, and it let him hear her coming behind him. He made it to the other side of the building, where nothing stood between him and a painful fall but another scaffold standing some distance away. Jon shot a glance at the Hunter to make sure she wouldn’t cut him off.

She stood at a distance, eyes glinting from the shadows. It took everything Jon had just to keep from wheezing, but the Hunter didn’t look even slightly winded. Pain leaked through from the gash on his knee, and though he tried not to limp as he crept toward the edge of the floor, he could see the eager triumph on her face.

“Are you even trying?” he rasped out, his throat dry and scraping. “It’s like you can’t even run.”

She lunged for him, and Jon flung himself onto the scaffold and down the ladder rungs so quickly that he almost lost his grip.

He lost count of near-misses after that. A tripwire he barely cleared. A half-hidden pit she almost herded him into. A pothole that would have sent him flying with a twisted ankle, if he hadn’t spotted it just in time to avoid it. An ambush that almost ended with him gutted.

And all the while his heart pounded, his injured leg burned, and exhaustion steadily weighed down his limbs and leeched the moisture from his mouth. As Jon grew wearier and more desperate, the Hunter stayed on his heels, persistent and unshakable. She continued to play him, slowing to let the distance grow between them, only to appear right on his heels moments later. Drawing out the chase, savoring it like a rare treat.

Jon skidded to a halt, half-blind from exhaustion. He burned from head to toe—his skull pounded, his chest was on fire, his torn knee was a mass of pain, and his feet were almost numb from running. He couldn’t keep going like this. If he did, then she would run him down and kill him before much longer.

Maybe Gerry had gotten free. Maybe he’d bought enough time…

But maybe he hadn’t.

His vision was beginning to blur at the edges, but still he spotted the pit. The plan was only half-formed when he looked back at the Hunter, then at the pit again, and broke into one last run.

He was past hiding the limp now. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps. One wrong step and he would collapse. He was prey, running until he could not run anymore, and the Hunter behind him could sense that the end of the chase was near. The air was thick with bloodlust.

Somewhere in his mind, faint ideas faded in and out of coherence. He could catch her by surprise, overpower her just enough to push. Or at the last moment he might pull to the side and let her momentum carry her over. Or…

Or she could catch him three steps away from the edge, knife whistling through the air like a song. Jon threw himself to the side to avoid the cut, and when the knife came at him again, he caught the wrist holding it. The thought of overpowering her was laughable, when he was weak and injured and exhausted, and the Hunter was drunk with her own power. But he could turn it away, just long enough to take one more step back. Just long enough for her to gather up her madness and hunger into one last eager pounce. When Jon stepped back again, there was no ground to catch him.

It was a split second. It was forever.

He found the ground again when it slammed into his side, and for a few seconds he was sure the pain had blinded him. It felt good to scream, not just for the gut-churning pain in his arm but for everything that had come before it as well. Bile rose in his dry throat, and he choked into the dirt until he could breathe again.

It was instinct that rolled him over, even as the pain in his arm made him sob. He groped for his glasses and found them not far from where his head had landed. He could still feel the Hunter’s gaze, and it made him want to crawl into hiding somewhere small and dark and deep, to curl up and lick his wounds and wait for the predator to pass him by.

Instead, he blinked the tears from his eyes, pressed his glasses back into place, and looked.

She was watching him, her eyes as hungry as ever. Her breath rattled in and out, a quiet, wet snarl. Blood leaked from between her bared teeth.

Jon’s fall had dropped him on bare, hard-packed earth. The Hunter had landed closer to the center of the pit and lay on a concrete platform, blood spreading beneath her. A metal beam jutting from the concrete had pierced her back and punched through her stomach; nearly a meter of bloodied steel protruded from her twitching body. Still she twisted against it, straining to reach him.

Jon stood up. He did not take his eyes off the body as he backed away from it, step by step, mindful of his own blood dripping into the dirt. His face felt scraped raw. His knee was a mess. His arm was almost definitely broken. He only turned his back on her when he reached the ladder and began to climb, one arm tucked gingerly to his side. It wasn’t until he reached the top and limped away from the edge of the pit that the knifepoint-prick of the Hunter’s gaze finally left him.

When he reached the skeletal buildings again, he opened his mouth to call out. But his voice wouldn’t come; now that he was no longer running for his life, every instinct screamed at him to hide and creep and be silent again.

He dodged a few more traps—a hidden pit, a trip wire, another steel trap. When he found the third, he dropped a piece of concrete on the plate to snap it shut.

When he found his way back to the pickup with the broken window, his voice finally returned to him.

“Gerry?” His voice was thin and cracked in the silence. Maybe Gerry had taken his advice and gotten away. Best case scenario, really. It was only by luck that Jon was still alive at all.

He turned the corner, wincing when his arm throbbed, and found Gerry leaning against a steel pillar, his leg freed from the trap and splinted with rebar and what looked like strips torn from his T-shirt. Gerry met his eyes, swore, and started trying to haul himself to his feet.

“Wait, Gerry—” Jon hobbled the rest of the way to his side and nearly collapsed, hissing when he was forced to bend his injured knee. “Listen, I’m alright—mostly. The Hunter’s down in one of the pits, she’s pinned there—I mean, literally pinned. Dunno if it’ll kill her, but it’ll hold her for a while, so we—” He was cut off by Gerry grabbing the front of his jacket and yanked him forward.

“What the hell was that?” Gerry demanded. “Jesus _fuck_ , Jon, what were you thinking?”

“I-I-I wasn’t?” Jon stammered. “I mean, I don’t—I couldn’t just—”

“I told you to run!”

“I _did_ run.”

“You know damn well what I meant, Jon, don’t give me that shit,” Gerry snarled. “That thing could’ve torn you apart.”

“And if I had left? What would she have done to you?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Why not?”

Gerry glared at him instead of answering, and for once Jon didn’t feel like caving to a scowl. He was tired and filthy, and he didn’t have enough adrenaline in his system to keep him from feeling his broken arm and bloodied leg. The pain made him stubborn.

“Look,” Jon said. “We’ve known each other less than a year and sometimes I’m not sure what you think of me. But you—it's just, you’ve ended up being… important. To me. A-as a person. And I wasn’t going to just—just run off and leave you to die.” He shook his head. “And maybe it was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn’t think of anything else and it’s not as if _you_ weren’t being just as stupid and, and self-sacrificing, and if you don’t have a problem with trying to heroically sacrifice your life for me then I don’t see why _I_ can’t—”

Gerry yanked him forward again, this time into a kiss instead of a shouting match.

For a split second, Jon froze. Gerry’s hands were locked in his jacket, holding him close but not fast. If he wanted to pull away, he could.

Jon leaned forward and kissed him back.

There were hands in his hair, Gerry’s fingers catching in the tangles as he pulled Jon closer. Jon’s heart beat wildly again, but not with fear. There was no Hunter stalking them, and in that moment even the Eye felt far away; there was just the two of them, battered and exhausted and kissing desperately in the shelter of steel beams and bare concrete.

Finally Gerry leaned too close, put pressure on the wrong spot on Jon’s arm, and pulled back at Jon’s strangled whimper. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” Jon murmured back. “It’s—God. _Damn_. Think my arm’s broken.”

“Shit.”

“W-we should… we should go,” said Jon. “Can you walk?”

Gerry glanced at the makeshift splint and winced a little. “My ankle’s definitely broken. So I can limp, probably.”

“All right then,” Jon sighed. “Give me a minute, and I’ll help you up.”

“You could always go and bring the car around,” Gerry pointed out, as Jon began the laborious task of fashioning his jacket into a makeshift bandage for his knee.

Jon thought about leaving Gerry alone in this place, injured and unable to run, with a Hunter nearby—even a horribly wounded, immobilized Hunter—and felt sick to his stomach. “I’d rather not.”

Gerry blinked up at him, opening his mouth to answer. But nothing came out, only a look in his eyes like vague wonder. For one wild moment, Jon was sure he was going to kiss him again.

But he didn’t—and maybe he wouldn’t at all. Maybe it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. A fluke. Jon surprised himself with how desperately he hoped it wasn’t.

“I mean,” he said when the silence stretched too long. “Hunters are hard to kill, and I’m sure she’ll survive that…”

“Jon,” Gerry said quietly.

“Mm?”

“You could’ve been killed.” Gerry was searching his face for something—something that his connection to Beholding apparently couldn’t tell him.

“I wasn’t,” was all Jon could think to say.

Gerry kept staring at him.

“It’s just,” Jon went on, floundering for a way to translate even a fraction of the things in his head into words. “Given the choice. I’d rather you didn’t… die. Just in general.”

It felt too blunt, too superficial and obvious, but it seemed to sink in, all the same. “Right,” Gerry breathed. “Yeah. And, you know. Me too. Glad you didn’t die.”

“Good.” Jon climbed to his feet. “Glad that’s cleared up. Come on—we need a hospital. Preferably one that’s already been built.”

To Gerry’s credit, he waited until they were back in the car to lean over the center console and let him know that the first kiss wasn’t a fluke at all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] drawn by necessity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550010) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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